


a fever you can't sweat out

by Hymn



Series: Hymn's Fic: The Mandalorian Collection [9]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Cara Dune, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Claiming, F/M, Heat Sex, Knotting, Marathon Sex, Mates, Mating Bites, More Butchered Mando'a, Multiple Orgasms, No But Seriously The Fuck Am I Doing, Omega Din Djarin, Post-Heat Sex, Rough Sex, Sweet & Slow Sex, bottom Din, if i missed anything pls let me know, just in case that isn’t clear lol, married, smooshy, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: “Jate,”Din groans. “Like that, alpha.”Cara huffs a fond laugh. “Pulling out all the tricks, aren’t you?”Din doesn’t look at her or say anything, but somehow he still radiates smugness. Maybe it’s his pheromones she’s smelling, sweet and mellow and warm with the knowledge that she belongs to him as thoroughly as he does her.
Relationships: Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Hymn's Fic: The Mandalorian Collection [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561399
Comments: 13
Kudos: 106





	a fever you can't sweat out

**Author's Note:**

> haaaa here we are again lol, with slightly less mando'a this time! in case you missed it, i did edit the previous fic in this series with about 1.5k words and hover text! same deal in this fic: if you're on the computer, just hover your cursor over the mando'a and it'll pop up with a translation. mobile users will sadly have to go to the end notes, but hey, at least you'll get more details about some of the words that way ;D started writing this thing for mandothon day 7: sleepy/recovery, but it quickly derailed into porn...and then more porn.....heh 
> 
> if you wanna know what an akaata'yaim looks like, [check it out.](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Vheh%27yaim) i did a terrible job describing it lmao

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They make it back to Din’s nest with plenty of time to spare, thankfully, so both Din and Cara use it to clean up a bit, washing off all the foreign scents their skirmish with the bandits brought on. Cara rinses off outside the akaata'yaim, marveling at its success. 

The traditional Mandalorian structure utilizes natural resources, so when Cara had been hunting down possible locales for Din’s heat, most of her search criteria had been agricultural, limited space traffic, and with at least some sparse woodland. She’s glad they chose this moon, for all the trouble with those bandits. It’s quiet here, peaceful, and Din’s akaata'yaim is a lovely little thing. Watching him give into his nesting instincts has been an actual dream come true. 

When she’s done cleaning up, Cara leaves the treeline to find the Razor Crest. They’d set her down nearby, close enough for Cara to go back and forth between the ship and Din’s nesting site. Close enough Din doesn’t get twitchy having most of his arsenal locked up and away when he’s at his most defenseless. 

Cara wasn’t allowed to help him build his nest, Din surprisingly fussy about it, considering how hard he’d protested the need for one. But she helped in other ways: his favorite weaponry she’d collected, leaving it at his door for him to sequester inside.

Hands down, Din Djarin likely has the most well-armed nest of any omega in the galaxy.

Cara can’t help but swell up in pride, thinking about it.

Inside the Crest, she goes through their stores again, making certain the heat packs she readied aren’t missing anything. Cara would rather not have to leave Din’s side again; hates that she’s so far away even now, but life, she knows, seldom goes as planned. 

She’s trying to decide between an extra canister of gihaal or sneaking in a bag of snacks, when warmth blossoms under her skin. Immediately, she’s several degrees hotter than she should be, skin dampening with sweat, heart pounding. 

Her omega’s next wave is here.

Cara grabs up their supplies, closes the Crest up, and _runs_.

\--

Din stands in the open doorway, at the top of the roughly hewn dirt steps he’d worked into the akaata'yaim’s design. 

Watching for her. Waiting.

She wants to bulldoze right into him, but forces herself to slow, to do this right, now that they have the chance. Coming to a stop several paces away, Cara takes a deep breath in, going electric with the smell of Din’s heat. He’s burning again, she thinks. That grip he has on the frame of the entrance is likely so he doesn’t stagger, or fall to his knees. The need in him must be intense, but Din is _Din_ , and so he blocks the way inside, stubborn and stoic, every inch the Mandalorian. 

The grin stretching her face is so wide it squinches her eyes up, turning all of Din’s beskar into a gleaming blur. She hadn’t been certain that he’d take it this far, but she’s glad, so fucking glad that he is.

Cara drops the packs on the ground and squares up, like a soldier for inspection.

The wind whispers through the leaves on the trees. Din is silent, but so is Cara, waiting for him to take the lead. If he really wants this, then _he_ has to start. She wants to give this to him, though she won’t force it if he can’t. So Cara just stands there, watches with sharp eyes, and sees the fierce swell of Din’s chest when he finds the courage to go through with the ritual. 

“Mhi solus tome,” he says, voice rough and aching.

Cara holds her ground, trying not to ruin everything by laughing in delight. Her heart swells, and she only hopes Din can see all that affection and pride in the way she looks at him, hear it in her voice when she says: “Mhi solus dhar'tome.”

“Mhi me'dinui an.”

“Mhi ba'juri verde,” Cara finishes.

The familiar vows are easy in her mouth, on her tongue. She means them every time, though Din’s only followed the tradition of reaffirming them before heats a handful of times. 

For Mandalorians, that’s enough and more than enough of a ceremony. Din sighs, his shoulders slumping a little in relief. But Cara...she’s not Mandalorian, and for all that she admires their tenets, there’s still a part of her that’s mired in Alderaanian tradition. So she compromises: “Tion me'dinui gar hettyc’ca’nara ti’ni, dalab?”

Din straightens up, surprised. 

They’re the words Cara grew up learning, but in mando’a. Din’s heard her ask them countless times, but never like _this_. And it might be redundant, considering they literally just vowed to share everything, but—

“Elek, beskad,” he says, humoring her. 

Cara hums, stooping down to pick up their packs and stepping toward him. When they’re close enough to touch, she does so only by leaning her head in, so that she and Din are forehead to forehead, a single point of contact. Soon, she’ll be able to kiss him anywhere she pleases, but for now the touch of cool beskar is enough. Softly, sincerely, she tells him, “Vor entye.”

Din purrs, a startled, pleased sound that has Cara grinning again. 

He lets her in.

\--

Safe in his nest, Din isn’t quite as impatient as he’d been on the bandit ship. He lets her take his armor off piece by piece, setting it carefully aside. Their world, now, is limited to this green space, the cool shadows of the akaata'yaim Din built with his own two hands. It’s beautiful, Cara thinks, though not as beautiful as Din is, naked and willingly vulnerable before her, trembling to be touched.

“Ni liniba gar, beskad.”

His voice is as low and aching as it’d been reciting the vows, and Cara’s heart clenches in time with the roil of arousal in her gut, the way her clit twitches, already hard and eager for her omega. 

“You have me,” she says. “Darasuum, Din.”

He’s panting already, skin flushed and eyes so dark, watching her like she’s prey, and he’s only waiting for her to make a mistake before springing. Cara strips quickly, carelessly tossing her clothes and armor aside, gaze on Din the whole time, standing in the rumpled pile of bedding, pillows and blankets Cara brought, things that already smell like them.

She puts alpha in her voice when she asks, “Do you want to present for me? I can mount you if you need it.”

That gets a groan, wrecked and vibrating. Din doesn’t answer in words. Just turns his back on her, all that vulnerable expanse of rippling skin and muscle, and drops to all fours in the bedding. He presents, ass high, chest down, knees spread wide and slipping wider. 

Cara’s still wishing she could eat him out, but she knows the flavor of his heat beneath her skin; he still needs a knot inside him more than anything, the satisfaction of being bred. So she gives him what he needs, how he needs it, mounting him from behind in one long, smooth thrust. He yelps, jolting with it, and Cara makes soothing noises along with the indulgent, rough purr that’s rumbling helplessly from her chest, her own pheromones ratcheting up to match Din’s. 

She covers him with her body. Let’s his heat sink into her skin, sharing the fever, the aching need. Fucks him quick and easy, and sets her teeth in him when he gets noisy, so that he yelps again, chokes on the sound, and comes. 

When her knot swells, he shudders all over in relief.

\--

Cara hopes—really, sincerely hopes—that Din is not going to let that little issue with the bandits stop him from nesting again. There’s nothing overtly different about how this heat goes in comparison to others they’ve shared, except that Cara fucking _loves_ the akaata'yaim closing them in, cherishes how quickly Din succumbs, how decadent he’s being, asking for more and more and _more_.

An alpha could get addicted to heats like this, is all.

Addicted to the way their omega is so soft with comfort, pheromones thick and fluffy with safety, pleasure, satisfaction—again, not that different from Din’s usual heats, or at least, not that different from how they are nowadays. 

But still, Cara wants to give him everything he needs, everything he could ever want. He _deserves_ nice things, Cara thinks, and so often he can’t have them. Other times, he rarely allows himself to entertain the notion that he _could_. That’s what’s getting to her the most about the akaata'yaim, that Din let himself _have_ it. For all that his tribe is a bit more utilitarian than other Mandalorians, even they wouldn’t begrudge an omega their nesting instincts. 

That had been Din, proving he didn’t need it.

Her stoic, stubborn omega, enduring everything without complaint. 

Convincing him that it’s okay to _want_ a nest had been months of struggle, but, tugging at his hips so that he straddles her face toward the end of his third wave, a day and a half in, Cara is _so_ fucking glad that she put in the effort. Gets him to grind down against her mouth and tongue, one of his hands fisted in Cara’s hair, the other playing with his cock. 

When she growls, fucking her tongue up into his loose, wet hole, he whimpers and comes, shaking, and his body trying to lock her tongue is the sweetest, hottest thing.

Then, he lets her give it to him again, just like that.

\--

Of course, Cara’s most important job during Din’s heats is in making certain he eats. Making certain that the rigorous, almost brutal toll on his body is mitigated. Knotting him, fucking him, touching him—it’s all important, but so is getting him to drink water, putting food in his hands, helping him wash up so he doesn’t feel sticky and disgusting while he rests between waves.

“Vor’e,” he croaks, three days in, when Cara’s ignoring her own exhaustion to massage his aching thighs. 

She just hums in response, taking note of how he winces when he bends his knees. Din falls asleep while she’s working out the tension in his calves, and he manages three, maybe four hours of heavy sleep before he’s sweating again, whining about how empty he is, frustrated and shivering and demanding.

Cara puts him on his back, pins him with a hand to his throat, and fucks him deep.

Her knees hurt, but not as badly as his, she’s sure.

\--

By the end, Cara is absolutely _sick_ of gihaal. 

With Din’s heat subsiding his pheromones are also quieting down, which means that Cara’s not only tired of tasting the stuff, but starting to smell nothing _but_ the fishmeal. To counteract it, Cara’s been keeping her nose buried in Din’s neck, breathing him in whenever he’s sated enough for them to relax. Works out pretty well, since Din can’t stand it when she’s not touching him.

“Why didn’t I bake any uj cake again?” she mutters into his shoulder, lazily petting at his bare stomach. 

Sleepy, worn out and nearly limp with exhaustion, Din says creakily: “Because I don’t care what things taste like during heat. I just need the energy.”

Cara huffs, which makes Din twitch, ticklish. 

If he’s speaking Basic, then Din’s heat has well and truly been quelled. But their world is still limited to the akaata'yaim. It’ll take at least a day for Din to recover; not that it’s ever stopped him from moving on sooner than that, but Cara hopes the nest will keep him in place, at least for a little. Cara’s sore and tired and would like to lounge a bit, and she can’t think of a better place to do it. 

For all it smells a little too fishy beneath the stench of their pheromones, she still likes being inside the akaata'yaim; the structure keeps the air cooler than it usually is by the end of four days of marathon sex. 

And it still feels safe, precious, special—something that belongs only to the two of them. 

“Vor’e,” she murmurs into damp skin, “par me’dinui gar hettyc’ca’nara.”

Din hums, bowing his head so that Cara’s mouth slides against the raw bruise of his nape, tender with the imprint of Cara’s teeth. They should be sleeping still, but they’re both too used to waking up. Early afternoon light filters in, peaceful and still.

“Hiibi’ni,” Din whispers, stretching out against her. Languid and sweet, nothing of urgency in the request. 

It’s simply Din, wishing to be close.

“Sure you’re not too sore?”

“Yes, Cara,” Din sighs out. “I’m sure.”

She’s not about to argue; Din knows his body, his needs and wants, far better than she ever will. That, at least, is something both Alderaanians and Mandalorians agree on: an alpha protects when their partner is vulnerable, but never attempts control. _Mhi solus_ , indeed. Two halves of one whole, and it’s the most beautiful thing Cara thinks she’s ever known, this bond between her and Din.

“Whatever you want, dalab,” she tells him, kissing his nape gently, worrying at the bruises with her teeth and tasting the tang of dried blood with each slow lick of her tongue. Din groans, pressing back into her—and it’s easy, easy as breathing or existing, for Cara to move with him when he shifts onto his belly, thighs spreading, back arching.

“Jate,” Din groans. “Like that, alpha.”

Cara huffs a fond laugh. “Pulling out all the tricks, aren’t you?”

Din doesn’t look at her or say anything, but somehow he still radiates smugness. Maybe it’s his pheromones she’s smelling, sweet and mellow and warm with the knowledge that she belongs to him as thoroughly as he does her. 

“Though I have to admit,” Cara tells him, draping her body over his so that her arms bracket him, hands over the tops of his so she can wriggle her fingers between, gripping the bedding along with him, “you calling me beskad has officially become more of a turn on than you calling me alpha.”

Now, her omega does turn his head, just enough that Cara can see the smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Cara says, stretching out over him so she can press a kiss against his temple, sweat-matted hair cool against her lips. 

“And if I called you kad?”

“I think I’d wither up and die on the spot, wondering what I’d done to piss you off.” Cara snorts, settling back between his spread thighs. It’s a testament to how much she wants him that she can get it up at all, after four full days of heat sex. But her clit swells valiantly to life. 

“Knot-headed of you,” Din comments.

“Can’t all be perfect,” Cara agrees, moving her hips in little circles against his ass to encourage her erection. Din smells delicious, sweat-soaked and claimed, scent-marked until he’s a perfect blend of _them_ that both satisfies and rouses the alpha in her. That he’s still wet, both from his own slick and her come, only rouses and satisfies her further.

She wants to eat him out like this. Again, she means, since every chance Din gave her to do just that she took, greedy and delighted at the permission. 

But that’s usually not what he wants coming out of heat, and it’s definitely not what he asked for coming out of _this_ heat, so she doesn’t. Instead, she rubs her swelling clit against his entrance until both of them are breathing heavier, the air molten on their bodies, movements sluggish but bright with hunger. 

Din’s so _relaxed_ , so easy with it. When she resituates her knees, he moves with her, opening up with a soft, slick sound.

“Fuck,” Cara mutters. 

Din lets out a sweet noise, a little embarrassed but mostly turned on. His chest is flat against the bedding along with his cheek, now, instead of his forehead, so that he’s in profile, eyes closed and red mouth open, for Cara to gaze at. He’s gotten his knees under him, ass tilted up, and it’s the laziest she’s seen someone present to an alpha, _ever_ , and she fucking adores it.

“You’re a dream, Din Djarin,” she tells him, voice gone low and filthily tender, alpha in every word. “My favorite dream. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

His dark brows twitch, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Just purrs a little, quiet and shy as Din’s purrs outside of heat usually are, before saying, “Nari lo’ni, riduur.”

“Elek,” Cara breathes. “I can do that, sweetheart.”

He’s loose from taking her knot so many times. Easy enough for her to angle her hips and slip right back in, soft and hot and slick enough to make Cara’s breath hitch. He moans, long and low, still holding position, open and wanting and so, _so_ lovely with it. He has to be tender; has to be so fucking sore and sensitive, and it’s overwhelming to be inside him like this, to have his scent thick and heady in Cara’s nose, her mouth, filling up her head with his happiness. 

“Jate,” he praises her. “Ori’jate, beskad.”

It gets to her, that husky voice telling her how much he likes her inside him; it always does, but especially like this, coming out of heat, being told that she’s a good alpha, that she’s satisfied her omega. Biology is a hard thing to escape, but with Din, Cara doesn’t mind being caught by it.

So Cara presses in and in and in until she bottoms out, Din’s ass against her hips, her body bowed over his, panting hot breaths against his spine. Feels like he’s melting into the bedding and planning on taking Cara with him, which is fine—more than fine. Cara breathes deep, breathes him in so he’s the very air in her lungs, and then starts to move.

“Like that?”

“Yes, yes, that—jate.”

There isn’t anything furious about their coupling, nothing wild or vicious or frantic like in the throes of heat. It’s just her clit moving inside him, opening him up again and again while Din moans and shivers and presses close. Cara braces herself on one hand, gets the other under his hips so she can palm at his small cock, turning those soft, drawn out moans into sharper sounds, whines and whimpers.

“Yes,” Din pants. “Just this, riduur.”

Just their bodies sticking together with sweat, both new and old, satiny skin rough with scars, hard with muscles, rubbing and rubbing. But gentle, so gentle it makes Cara’s breath catch in her throat, a burn in her eyes. 

She says, “You are my heart.”

“And you,” Din groans, “my—my soul.”

Cara has to close her eyes briefly, shuddering hard. There’s no world where they’d smell anything other than mated. No galaxy where anyone could pretend they aren’t exactly what they are: two halves of a whole, made one.

She lets that knowledge move her. Gives into it, surrenders herself to the pure joy of being with her chosen partner. She’s just blood in her body, pulsing in time with Din’s, their scents mingling, their bodies joined, their hearts connected. Cara doesn’t know how long they keep up like that, letting the pleasure unspool between them, Cara thrusting deep but unhurried, the easiest, sweetest glide. Only knows how good Din feels beneath her, wrapped up in her, and then—he’s quiet, she realizes.

“Hey. You good?”

“Don’t stop,” he manages, sounding strained. When Cara leans up to check, she sees his face creased with a tension that isn’t present anywhere else in his body. 

Cara doesn’t stop; she’s a good alpha, she knows when to do as she’s told. So she keeps fucking Din just like that, tight and close, the slick squelch of her clit moving inside him loud in the still air, indecent when compared to the quiet, hushed sound of his hitched, gasping breaths.

“Still good, riduur?”

“‘Lek,” he whispers, and his face twists, body jolting.

“Such a pretty sight, every time,” Cara rumbles, keeping her clit buried inside his body while he convulses around her, his cock pulsing where Din grinds against her hand. Carefully, she shifts without pulling out, rotating her hips in circles that press against his inner walls, his sensitive opening. Makes his breath leave him in a high, tight cry, as Cara forces more sensation into him, refusing to let up. She only stops when his orgasm ends.

Din pants, trembles, melts further into the mattress. He looks _exhausted_ , but also like he hasn’t a care in the world. Cara’s heart thrums, thrilled to know she’s the one who put that expression on his face. “Dalab. You want to come again?”

His moan this time almost sounds anguished; Cara can feel the way he squeezes around her reflexively at the thought. “I…”

“You don’t have to,” she soothes, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. “Want me to pull out?”

“ _Nayc_.”

“Okay, okay,” Cara laughs, moving the hand on his cock to press against his belly, squeezing him tight. He makes another delicious, agonized noise. Cara hums, pressing harder, like she’ll be able to map the outline of her clit inside him. “Take a minute, tell me what you need.”

For her part, Cara’s going to enjoy that minute—they’ve tried clit-warming before, and though Din squirmed and huffed and decided after that he was _not_ a fan of waiting, Cara likes it more than enough for the both of them. That slick heat sheathing her so tight, making each pulse of arousal echo back a thousand fold, a drum beat of heavy pleasure through her body. And honestly, she loves being inside of him without being tied; loves Din letting her in like this, the intimacy and the closeness and the excitement without any rush toward a conclusion. 

Though, she’s honestly tired enough she could probably drift to sleep, just like this, if only it weren’t for the strain of holding herself over him.

Din doesn’t even make it the full minute before he’s grunting, getting his forearms under him so he can rearrange. Cara pulls out to give him space, wincing when Din hisses. It’s tempting to stroke her clit, red with arousal and shining with Din’s slick, but she waits instead for him to settle. 

“What am I doing here?” she asks, when he’s laid himself flat on the bed, legs pressed together. 

Not that she’s in any rush, or minds _looking_ , either. 

The last spike of Din’s heat had hit early in the morning, and Cara, for one, is willing to forgive herself for not doing a very thorough job cleaning them up. Because she really _had_ fallen asleep inside of Din, that time, but only because they were tied, Din’s body locked around her knot, keeping him plugged. So now, his ass and thighs are all shining with a mix of his own slick and Cara’s come, and when Din shifts on the sheets, adjusting his legs, she gets a peek of his entrance, pink and loose and puffy with use.

It’s not a new sight; she had him spread wide and on display just two days ago, watching him dip his own fingers inside until he couldn’t stand it any longer, begging for her knot. But it’s still a delicious sight, a tease, and before she can even try and get a grip on herself, she’s growling posessively.

But again: she’s willing to forgive herself.

Apparently, so is Din, because he just snorts and buries his face into his folded arms. “Get back in me,” he says. 

“Can do,” says Cara, words mangled a bit around that alpha-growl. “Want me to get you off again?”

“No. Just want to feel you.”

Cara gets her hand on one of Din’s ass cheeks, takes a moment to squeeze it; round, muscular, and utterly biteable. But Cara’s got her knees on the outside of Din’s thighs and would have to waddle backward to do so, and she’d _really_ rather do what Din is asking of her. 

That laziness she was feeling is slipping away. Again: no way she’s blaming herself. Din’s heat may be quelled, but that’s never stopped Cara from burning up with her own need for him, especially when he looks like _this_. Blissful, relaxed, ready and willing to be taken. So she grips her clit with her other hand, and is grateful when Din pushes his ass up enough to make it easy to slot inside of him, pushing into a heat gone even tighter than before. 

With the new position, he almost feels as tight as he did at the start of his heat. Cara’s cursing, but she can’t even hear what the words are through the roaring in her ears.

All she can do—all she _should_ do—is drop down onto her forearms, lay her body back over Din’s like she’d done at the beginning, weighing him down. He grunts; but his body is soft, sweet, full of willing surrender. Cara needs a moment, maybe ten, so she noses at the hairline at his nape, the dark strands even curlier than usual thanks to all this sex and sweat and the fact that Din hasn’t put his helmet on in days. It’s cute. Cara might possibly bite a particularly intense ringlet.

“...What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Cara hums, releasing his hair. “So, hey—coming in or out? Knotting? Also, your neck looks like I was starving and it was the only food in the entire parsec, want me to keep my teeth to myself?”

Din is silent a moment, but his shoulders shiver like he’s trying not to laugh. Cara grins, finally adjusted enough to the tight grasp of Din’s body that she’s no longer in danger of blowing her load too early. She nudges her hips into Din’s ass a little more firmly. Gets the head of her clit bumping into his walls, making him hiss and twitch. A gentle encouragement. 

“Inside,” Din tells her. “Yes. No. And...give it to me as hard as you want.”

Cara blinks.

“I mean it,” Din says, and she isn’t surprised he can read her hesitance. “I want to give you something nice, alpha. Beskad. I want to feel you take what you want. Take _me_.”

Her heart’s pounding immediately, and Din probably felt the way her clit jerked inside him at his words: _Take what you want_. Seems her omega is determined to wrest away her careful control. When Cara finally gets her voice to come out, it sounds wrecked to her own ears. “You’re gonna feel that, if I do. If you think you’re sore _now_ …”

“You’ve done it before,” he points out.

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

Din hums, shifting his knees, clenching tight around her. “Do it again, then. You’ve taken such good care of me, let me return the favor, beskad.”

Cara groans, short and sharp—and then she falls into him harder than before, gives him all of her weight and gets her teeth into the nape of his neck where he’s already all bitten up, sore and tender and bruised. The suddenness or the intensity of it makes him give a strangled gasp, shoulders hunching, before he’s forcing himself to relax into it, pressing back, asking for everything she has to give.

It’s a lot, Cara thinks. She loves him so much, wants him all the time. Everything she has to give him is probably going to be too much, even like this with the both of them worn and sore and weak from Din’s heat. 

But if he’s asking for it—if he _wants_ it like that—then Cara’s not about to deny him.

For days she’s been battling her own instincts, trying to make certain at least one of them held onto sense, kept them safe and careful. It’s a relief to be given permission to finally let go of that control.

 _Mine_ , Cara thinks, in a way that has nothing to do with heat or rut or biology, and instead has everything to do with _Din_.

She keeps her teeth clenched tight on his nape, grips his biceps with her hands and starts fucking into him, short and brutal, as hard as she can snap her hips forward. The position he’s put himself into is perfect, has Cara bracketing him in, pinning him down. And it keeps him so fucking _tight_ , it feels like forcing her way into him for the first time with each thrust. The way he arches into the force of it each time is so _sweet_ , so good, like he can’t get enough of her making space inside his body for her clit. Like he wants to keep her there, fucking him full. 

The peaceful stillness of the akaata'yaim is broken, full of Cara’s growls and grunts, and all the noises she keeps fucking out of Din, sharp and wild and a little surprised, getting louder and louder and only urging her on.

“H-harder,” Din chokes out, pressing his nape against her teeth.

Cara _snarls_ , biting deep enough to scar him again.

Beneath her, Din goes limp, instincts forcing him to submit, turning what should have been pain to pleasure so euphoric it has him whimpering. 

When her knot starts to swell, Cara’s not even seeing anything anymore. Her eyes are still open, but her hair is all down over her face and her vision’s gone soft regardless, hazed over with arousal. Distantly, she’s aware of the burn in her muscles, the press of her breasts into Din’s broad back, his forearms tensing and relaxing beneath the harsh grip of her hands holding him in place. 

But mostly, all she can focus on is her clit being swallowed up again and again, groaning when her growing knot presses past Din’s entrance. It feels so good, so _right_ , that she stops thrusting for a moment, instead grinding her knot into his walls; a taste of what’s to come.

“Oh,” Din gasps, startled. “Oh, oh _fuck_.”

She feels it when he comes, but barely; just one more sensation added to the rest, his body shaking and shaking so that Cara growls again and crowds in tighter, gets her teeth in him sharper and her clit in him deeper, trying to hold him still and right where she wants him. 

Din shouts with the intensity of his orgasm, falling apart in her arms, and Cara goes back to fucking him, short strokes but deep, urgent—forces her growing knot to pop inside of him on each harsh thrust, so that he’ll get even louder.

She likes him noisy.

Wants to make him feel so good he’s _screaming_ with it. 

Almost desperately, Din keeps trying to lock her knot. But he can’t yet, so it keeps tugging his tightened rim, in and out. He’s gone restless beneath her, overcome, quaking and pinned and—

He keens, body going rigid.

“Oh, fucking—I’m going to come again, I’m—fuck fuck—”

Din doesn’t quite scream, but it is _deliciously_ close.

More than enough to get Cara’s knot fully blown. He makes that noise again, a wailing sort of shout as Cara shoves her knot inside, and this time his body locks her as tight as it can, pulling her up short when she goes to pull back out. Cara growls, tugging, and when his body won’t release her she fucks _in_ instead, and it’s too much for him, has to be, but he keeps moaning, says, “Yeah, yeah, give it to me,” so Cara does. 

“Mine,” she growls out, garbled by how she’s still got her teeth clamped onto his neck.

But Din hears her anyway, or simply knows: “Yes, yes, beskad—yours, I’m yours!”

And just like that, her orgasm finally catches her. Roars over her so hard and so fast she’s drowning in it, pumping her hips into Din erratically, feeling it as she loads him up with her come, getting him filthy with her claim.

\--

“ _Shit_ ,” Din is hissing when Cara can hear again, voice bleary and well-fucked, scent bright and overwhelming in Cara’s nose; omega-sweet and satiated. “I can’t believe—Cara?”

Cara hums into his skin.

Din groans, his whole body still trembling so hard that Cara’s instinctively squeezing around him tighter and tighter, pressing in as close as she can get. Trying to soothe, but clumsy in the execution. She feels out of it; the way she never let herself get with anyone before Din. Always, she’d kept some control. But with Din, it’s easy to give it away, hand it over to him, and know she’ll be safe.

He huffs, now, and pointedly shakes his ass, jostling where they’re tied. “Don’t fall asleep on me. I just came _twice_ more than I planned, I’m going to scream if I stay in this position. Every breath is pressure on my cock, Cara. Riduur, _please_.”

Grumbling, Cara grips Din and rolls them sideways, so that they’re spooning. “Better?” she slurs.

“Thank you,” Din sighs, relieved.

He’s still shaking, still making quiet little noises every time they shift or pull at where they’re joined. But despite that, he seems to have fully recovered his ability to utilize words. Which figures, since Cara has officially exhausted all of her’s. 

But the akaata'yaim remains sturdy around them, the young boughs tinting the light that filters through green and cool. They’re safe. Secure. Cara kept guard all through Din’s heat, so it’s probably fine if she relaxes now. It’s okay, at least for a little while, to let their world remain only as large as the space within Din’s nest; this safe place he made for them. 

Cara nuzzles in, wrapping her arms around Din. One over his chest, the other over his stomach where he’s still full of Cara’s clit, her come. 

“Okay?” is all she can figure out how to ask.

“Yes. I’m—I’m fine. So go to sleep,” Din tells her. “I know _I’m_ going to.”

“You sure?”

Din sighs, but it ends on a soft, fond laugh. It’d taken time, but eventually Din had seen the sense in checking in after sex, so he clarifies for her: “ _Yes_ , riduur. I should’ve realized that position would get me off. It wasn’t planned, but...that was good. All of it. I liked it.”

Cara hums, grateful. “Sore?”

Din ignores the question, which means: _yes_ , very sore.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

But Din just slides his hands over Cara’s arms, holding on to where she’s holding him before saying, voice soft and tender: “Don’t be. I’m...I mean it. I like feeling this way.” 

Good, that’s...that’s really good to hear.

Cara settles in, finally, breathing in the truth of Din’s assurance through his pheromones. She’s glad it wasn’t too much. Glad he wanted it, that she trusted him to take it, that they’ve been together long enough they can still have this conversation, even when Cara’s nearly nonverbal. 

Glad, too, that Din built this nest, and that she was here with him to share it, welcomed and wanted, safe and secure. 

Tomorrow, they’ll need to break down the nest, pack up the Razor Crest, and head back to pick up their kid from where the tribe’s been keeping him safe during Din’s time. But for now, the dreamy, intimate space of the akaata'yaim is all that needs to exist, filled with the soft sounds of contented purring, from omega and alpha both.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> as per usual, i took random bits and bobs from legends and used it to fit into the mandalorian canon universe, tweaking things even more aggressive for the a/b/o factor haha. thanks to [wookiepedia](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Main_Page), as always, for their resources!
> 
>  **mhi solus tome, mhi solus dhar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde** \- we are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors (the traditional mandalorian wedding vow)  
>  **tion me'dinui gar hettyc'ca'nara ti'ni, dalab?** \- will you share your heat with me, omega? (fun fact - i made up the word for heat by combining hettyc (burning) and ca'nara (time))  
>  **elek/'lek** \- yes/yeah  
>  **beskad/kad** \- both mean alpha, but beskad is a tradtional mandalorian saber, and kad just means saber (in this universe, beskad denotes respect and honor, you can use 'kad' as an insult depending on context)  
>  **riduur** \- partner, spouse, or in this a/b/o: mate  
>  **vor entye/vor'e** \- thank you/thanks (consider vor entye super proper, literally meaning "i accept a debt")  
>  **ni liniba gar** \- i need you  
>  **darasuum** \- eternal or eternally, forever  
>  **vor'e par me'dinui gar hettyc'ca'nara** \- thanks for sharing your heat  
>  **hiibi'ni** \- take me  
>  **jate/ori'jate** \- good/very good  
>  **nari lo'ni** \- put it in me (ok ok ok look according to the mando'a dictionary nari means move, lo means into, and lonar means insertion, and while i was really tempted to figure a way to try and make sure you knew he meant PUT IT INSIDE ME i figured that, since this is mando'a, that much distinction wouldn't matter - tho i'm still convinced there's a different verb or some modifier i can attach to hiibi'ni to elevate that phrase from "take me" and right into "fuck me" since i have found almost zero sexual mando'a phrases (surprise surprise lol) but....ANOTHER DAY, PERHAPS)  
>  **nayc** \- no (as in a negative)  
> bonus: i didn't wind up using it, but **muunshy’a** should be 'harder' in mando'a hurr hurr
> 
> i use uhh several different sites to try and figure out the mando'a, if you wanna know what they are hit me up in an ask on my tumblr at [thelionshymnal](https://thelionshymnal.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks so much for reading!! <3 hope it was enjoyable!!


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